


Severance

by KillerOfHope



Series: Sworn to the Dark [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Lucifer is the King of Jotunheim, M/M, Magic, Non-Sexual Intimacy, References to Norse Religion & Lore, The Winter Theme is Everywhere, aka: Sam is a glorified Jack Frost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-23 18:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21324808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerOfHope/pseuds/KillerOfHope
Summary: The Wanderer comes in the middle of the night.His fist pounds against the large door, the sounds shake the residents. They startle in their beds and the master of the house sends one of his vassals to check the entrance. Warriors do not tend to announce themselves as they ambush villages.~Sam is the Lord of Winter.
Relationships: Lucifer & Sam Winchester
Series: Sworn to the Dark [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1401832
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Severance

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** true vessel fic translated into Norse mythology, sole focus on a non-romantic relationship between Sam and Lucifer.
> 
> Written for the Samifer BigBang. The Story, while part of a larger series, can be read separately. Foxeyesam is responsible for the goregous art, it's stunning.

The Wanderer comes in the middle of the night. His fist pounds against the large door, the sounds shake the residents. They startle in their beds and the master of the house sends one of his vassals to check the entrance. Warriors do not tend to announce themselves as they ambush villages.

Trembling the servant opens the door. It reveals a huge figure, dressed in a heavy coat. The wind dances around him, carrying snowflakes and the dreadful cold of winter.

Since it is bad form to send away a guest, the master of the house opens his home to the Wanderer. In the light of the fire crackling in the hearth, the Wanderer appears otherworldly. There is not enough snow in his hair, his skin not dead and frozen after travelling through the land in the depth of a winter night.

"Welcome, Wanderer," the master of the house says. "I offer you a place under my roof for the night, as it is custom. You may share a meal with us. If your intentions include a longer stay, I must insist on a trade, for tonight you are saved from the winter."

"You have my gratitude." The Wanderer's voice is soft, like footsteps on freshly fallen snow.

He appears honest enough, armed only to fend off robbers and wild animals. He gifts the lady of the house with a fox he killed two hours ago. A gracious present and a maid raises to prepare it. It is enough to feed the families for three days since the fox is big and well-fed.

The Wanderer refuses a bed and contents himself with a warm corner near the fire.

His only companion is a large hound. It does not look at anyone, only follows its master and settles next to him as the servants' children edge closer in their curiosity.

"Tell us your name," they demand. "We want a story."

The Wanderer chuckles.

The master of the house shivers. He shares a worried glance with his wife. They cannot send the stranger away, but they must tread carefully. In general, nothing human can cross the mountains when the snow is ten feet high and none of the other villagers would disturb them in the middle of the night. The Wanderer must sense their caution for he smiles and his face turns from a bear being woken too early to the first grass peeking through the melting snow.

The master and the lady relax. They, too, draw closer to the story their guest begins to tell. The winter nights are long and stories help to pass the time.

Only an old man in the corner keeps his distance. In his long life of seven decades, he recognizes the signs of a white walker, of those who travel through winter as if the heavy snow outside, that would kill any great warrior, is nothing more than light refreshing summer rain. He wraps himself up, disappears under his covers like a frightened babe and claims aching limbs as a reason to stay away.

The Wanderer tells his story. It is magnificent, full of wonders and it brings colour into the dark, cold house. Though, none of its inhabitants is able to retell the exact details later on. The little girls speak of castles, the boys claim a warrior was involved, the servants remember a just ruler and the lady of the house smiles fondly as she thinks of the amount of food the stranger described.

They are all sad to see the Wanderer go, but at his insistence, he disappears with the morning sun. Frost covers the windows, but the cold does not seep inside for once and the fire in the hearth chirp happily.

The last thing the tribe sees from the Wanderer is how he disappears between the hills heading north. They do not question his journey, nor do they ever asked for a name. The only evidence he has ever been there are claw marks in the wood the hound left behind.

Later on, as the old man has long died and the lady of the house, now old and brittle herself, teaches stories to her grandchildren, she claims this house was visited by the Lord of Winter many moons ago.

* * *

  
[ ](https://postimg.cc/Ppw2rnWs)

He has many names. Each shape he takes has a different one and for visits in the mortal realms he invented a few, always depending on if he wishes to remain unnoticed or not.

The further north he travels, the more useless his disguises become. Up here, they know him. They bow to the white wolf, the stag and even the whisper in the wind if he refuses to turn solid.

For most in the Winter Court, he is Prince SámR, the Væann. A reminder of his old name, which is now long forgotten. Buried under ice and snow together with his mortal body. Deep encased in ice it's preserved and one day the people of Jotunheim may build a temple out of it. Today, they are still wary of him. Though with a byname  _ 'likely to succeed' _ he is as well-received as it is possible for people living in a cold, frozen world.

When Sam passes through the barriers that separate the mortal world from the realms beyond, his arrival is anticipated. He would not call it a crowd, the Jotuns are not a social bunch. But they still await him eagerly and pay their respects. They are glad for his return, for he brings Winter with him. The blessed cold that eases aches and freezes wounds. Fresh snow that allows new homes to be built and with the darkness, the bright sun finally disappears at the horizon. So far north the Jotuns live a life reserved from the mortals.

Whenever the Lord of Winter leaves the realms to do his duty in the mortal world, to see to the passing of the seasons, it gets warm in Jotunheim. The sun is no longer a distant globe, but a hated nuisance that melts ice and turns glaciers into deadly traps as they become fragile.

The bear god approaches him first. He is too old to bow, his loyalty belongs to the King of the Ice Realm and not to his son. Sam does not mind and gives his respect in return.

"Your kin is waking, Lord Nivkh. Their bellies are empty and the cubs born this year are eager to discover the world outside their caves," Sam says. He nods at his companion. Each winter he selects a different one, a highly-sought-after position. This time it was a bear spirit named Volos. "I also return your great-great-grandson to you. He has fulfilled all his duties to my likening and I will praise his deeds before the King."

Nivkh nods again. He does not speak often anymore and Sam suspects he is nearly blind as well. But it will not keep the old god from going south to wake his kin, to call for his children hiding in their caves to announce the coming of spring.

Volos will replace him one day. It is the fourth time Sam has chosen him as a companion, a good sign for future leadership.

_ 'Your father awaits you, SámR Væann',  _ Nivkh hums. His voice is a deep rumble, like an avalanche breaking off a mountain.

"Of course, I will not summon his wrath by lingering too long," Sam answers. "Please excuse me. I wish you a safe and fruitful journey."

As he speaks his appearance changes from a man in a thick winter coat to a tall figure with long limbs. His skin turns into a shade of light blue and markings like crack ice cover him like armour. Horns grow from the side of his head, curved and imposing. They may not be as large as the King's, but they serve him better than any mortal crown. Of course, there is the sheer power he carries. A season away from Jotunheim is a terrible burden, only possible for the strongest. Jotuns only leave their realm when the barrier is thin and they can blend in. While they are able to leave Jotunheim and travel among mortals nearly unnoticed, they dislike the heat in the south and not even the greatest shapeshifter can bear the discomfort for long.

SámR spreads his wings, glowing in the darkness and shining in the favoured blue. Leaping into the air is freedom itself. As current Lord of Winter, he does not dislike the mortals as former holders of the title but is it still a relief to return home. Humans fear his true appearance. Knights of the Holy Order called him a devil and worse, for with winter he brings darkness and often death, but here in Jotunheim, he is joy. An end to suffering, a blessing that shields Jotunheim from the despicable heat.

As he flies through the air, calling upon his trusted friends  _ wind  _ and  _ storm,  _ Sam spots the ice fortress in the distance.

The sight makes his heartache. The desire to return home straight away seeps through him, but duty forbids the reunion with his father. First, he must share the cold he gathered in the mortal realm and share it with his people.

A short time later fresh snow falls on the ground of Jotunheim and the realm becomes quiet, reverent and peaceful. Mothers will speak to their children and warn them of times during the great war when winter was trapped in the mortal world and Jotuns starved, growing so desperate for food and magic that they invaded Midgard.

_ 'How did the war end?'  _ The small ones will ask.

For some, it's the first turn of the seasons, the first time of trembling in fear for six months as they dug themselves deeper into the ice to evade the warmth on the surface. Temperatures way below freezing point, deadly for mortals, but a nuisance for Jotuns. Only the shapeshifters preferring human skin enjoy the change. Their kin regards them as strange, but since the magic, their work keeps them alive, they do not complain. They only grumble a little and praise Prince SámR for his safe return.

For he is their saviour.

  
  


* * *

  
  


His father's statue towers above the Ice Fortress of Udgård. It is as large as a mountain, a single toe higher than a mortal house. Since the body is crouching over the heart of Jotunheim, one hand rooted to the ground and the other raised as a fist to strike any enemy daring to attack, it makes an imposing sight for any visitor, Jotun or guest of the realm alike.

Of course, it is a reminder of the war. A symbol of the King's protection and his love for his people. Few know that the statue is an old body, a form the King left behind after the battles ceased and grew a new one. Now it may be an empty husk, but as heir, he learned the spells in case it needs the breath of life to defend Jotunheim once again.

In comparison, Sam feels small.

Countless years have passed in the mortal world since he came here since he awakened in the darkness. Beloved by his people, they call him wise for the knowledge he shares. They call him strong for the enemies he slays or outwits. But compared to his father, Sam is a firefly fluttering in his divine hands.

  
  


* * *

For Jotuns, the Ice Fortress of Udgård is made of thick walls, districts and insane floor plans. As Heir and Prince of Jotunheim, Sam can travel  _ through  _ the Ice. Impassable barriers that open pathways for the Lord of Winter, which allows him to descend to the heart. The deepest cave, the most beautiful, where his father is waiting for him.

After six months in the mortal world, which is longer for Jotuns than for Humans, Sam is eager to return home.

The ceiling opens up for him. The Fortress moves for him instead of his father taking command. It is in their abilities to do so, but the Ice Fortress has long turned to take care of itself, leaving it to King and Heir to transform the land around it if it becomes necessary.

"Welcome home, my beloved son." The King of Jotunheim greets him when Sam descends and lands gracefully on a platform.

Cheers accompany the King's exclamation, drums sound through the air and only now Sam realizes the court is in attendance. Not unusual, quite the opposite, it is expected given his long-awaited return. But Sam has only eyes for his father.

The King of Jotunheim has already abandoned his throne. It is currently melting away, as it always does when the King has no need for it. His past encounters with other rulers, mortal and fae alike, taught Sam that his father is an unconventional ruler. His fashion is considered simple, especially compared to the attire of some of their guests in attendance. Queen Lilith from the Unseelie Courts has no less than three winged fairies holding up her hair and numerous others for her heavy cloak.

Sam's father, on the other hand, is clad entirely in black with little decorations or unnecessary accessories.

It is notable that he is the only unarmed person in the room. All the other guests carry big swords, magical staffs and rune stones in their bracelets, markings that place them under protection and they keep guards around them.

Lucifer has no need for such trivialities.

"I have returned, father," Sam says and bows as it is required. He would rather fall into his father's arms.

Ancient protocol demands a ritual before that can happen.

Eager to get done with it, Sam continues: "I present you, dear father, as acknowledged ruler of Jotunheim, the Horn of Winter. May it rest safely in your Halls until it is needed again."

Pulling the Horn from his back is not easy. Made from an ancient, long-forgotten race, it is nearly as tall as Sam and just as heavy. During his journey through the mortal kings, it spreads winter and collects magic with little assistance from Sam himself. The horn does its work, but it needs someone to carry and prevent greedy, cruel souls from stealing it.

It is the oldest item in entire Jotunheim, aside from Lucifer himself.

The King smiles as he approaches his son. His silver-white hair gleams in the darkness, for no torch survives in the heart of the Ice Fortress.

With ease, Lucifer takes the Horn of Winter out of Sam's hands. In appearance, he may be slightly smaller than Sam, but not a single soul in this room doubts his strength as he swings the embodiment of Jotunheim's place and function in the world. His own breath is deadly cold, swallow to adapt to the drastic change in climate he has gone through in the last few days.

As Prince SámR forces himself to stand as Lucifer raises the Horn to his lips. The guests bend their knees and lower their heads. Quickly and without question, Queen Lilith manages it with grace despite the volume of her dress.

Sam wishes to join them. Without the Horn's magic, he feels the toll the journey has taken from him and exhaustion begins to creep into his bones in a way the cold never could.

A deep beautiful sound travel through Jotunheim, the world of ice and home of winter. Those animals and people, who fled the warmth into the cold depths below, call out in joy as they hear the horn. Its arrival means that it is safe to return to the surface. Meanwhile, the shapeshifters search for new skin and ready themselves for their departure, depending on whenever they wish to last through the changes awaiting on the horizon.

With Winter returned to their home, it will snow from now on. What little plants thrived in the last months, all will disappear under new mountains of ice. The Ice Fortress itself vanished under the white magnitude in the past.

The mortals will only have six months, from the start of spring to the end of autumn, ere the Lord of Winter returns.

For Jotunheim the time between lasts much longer, the period where they have to endure fever and sultriness again, lays in the distant future.

The return of the Horn ensures their realm is safe, no matter if the Lord of Winter remains in Jotunheim or embarks on one of his long journeys once again.

  
  


* * *

Lucifer, King of Jotunheim, ancient creature and powerful ruler, matched only by the King of Asgard, pulls his son into his arms.

SámR's eyes are closed. Sounding the Horn, which has dissolved into thin air, plucked a lot of magic from his soul. As expected, returning Udgård to its natural state after it experiences its only summer in one hundred years, requires unnatural strength.

"Queen Lilith of the Unseelie, you have the court in my absence," Lucifer announces as he lifts Sam up. His son's head rests against his shoulder. Having returned to his human form, he looks vulnerable and beautiful.

His own presence ensures the Prince remains untouchable.

The King meets the eyes of his guests, silently warning them to behave. They murmur their thanks, all aware of the sacrifice Prince SámR brings for them. Many here today still remember the last war and suffering they endured. SámR Vænn's birth brought the desired change. With his first breath alone he reversed the unnatural state Jotunheimr had been in, burying the forests grown over the Long Summer during the war under new glaciers.

"Until your return, your grace." Lilith curtsy is beyond perfection, as is her entire performance.

She may possess her own kingdom, her own realm she governs. She is proud, but never forgets Glæsisvellir thrives because of Prince SámR's sacrifice and the transition he brought with him. The Huldufólk at her side is proof of how much of her power and her influence is based on his son's miraculous work.

"We shall. In our time. I will tend to my son and your saviour first." Lucifer says. The Ice already opens new pathways for him, leading an inner sanctuary no one but him and Sam may enter. "I leave the realm in your capable hands until then. Make your presence known only, if neither Prince SámR nor myself have returned before the Døkkálfar and the Ljósálfar arrive."

Not that Lucifer expects trouble from the Light or the Dark Elves. Raphael is a stern ruler and keeps a close eye on the warring clans in her realm. In general, Jotunheim rarely struggles with its guests. They rather spend the energy to keep themselves warm and prefer to carry out their battles in places where they are not wrapped in furs from head to toe.

With a last warning glance, Lucifer jumps into the depth below, Sam safely wrapped up in his embrace.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Jotunheim drags them deep below until words like  _ sun _ ,  _ summer  _ or  _ grass  _ are a forgotten fantasy. Lucifer travels hours, following cracks in the ice to his inner sanctuary. He spent millennia exploring the world beneath Udgård, but Jotunheim harbours many secrets. It is the largest of the realm, three times the size of Midgard, but its people use barely one perfect of its resources.

Finally, Lucifer reaches the place he carved out for himself. It is not the bottom. They are still safely encased in ice. The journey to the realm's ground is even a longer one. A harrowing experience Lucifer only made a few times in his long immortal life and he strongly hopes it never has to happen again.

For below his kingdom waits nothing but cruelty, malice and torture.

Thankfully he can count on Jotunheim to protect his son from such dangers. The realm loves its child as much as Lucifer does.

  
  


* * *

He has a prayer to his mother's womb on his lips long before he is properly awake. But Sam does not need to open his eyes, he knows exactly where he is anyway. As a result, there is no hurry to wake up. Peace and silence surround him. For miles and miles, there is nothing but coldness, stroking his soul like a parent rocking its child. Frost covers his body, slipping into the cracks and wounds he brought with him from the harsh reality beyond this place.

What finally brings him back to awareness are fingertips trailing over his naked shoulder.

With an annoyed rumble, Sam forces his eyes to open. It is his own tiredness that causes him to glare at Lucifer. The man-shaped King of Jotunheim is sitting cross-legged on top of the most comfortable fur Sam has ever the pleasure of sleeping in. While his father shared many secrets with him already, the origin of the hide remains a mystery. The only answer he ever got from Lucifer was ' _ It belongs to a forgotten world, my son.' _

"Welcome home, Sam." Lucifer's expression is soft. His eyes shine with kindness when he says, "I missed you."

Sam purrs, content and relaxed in a manner the world above never allows him to be.

"I missed you as well, father. It was a long journey."

Circumstances forbid that either of them can leave Jotunheim at the same time. Queen Lilith holding court in their absence is an exception, only possible since both members of the royal family reside within the bounds of their realm. In the rare occasion where father and son receive an invitation for the other realms one of them must decline.

Negotiations with fellow rulers or conferences with the Allfather happen through magic, ancient telepathic connections and through the branches of Yggdrasil itself.

The Nine Worlds are carefully balanced after the last great war. Sam's existence, his title as Lord of Winter and his presence here at the sanctuary are all consequences of that.

Lucifer combs through Sam's hair with his fingers.

"There are times where I wish I could go with you." His father sighs. He may look eternal and possesses the features a young boy at times, but the deep lines of worry are etched into his soul.

Sam brings his hand up and touches Lucifer's cold cheek.

"Ragnarök descends upon us before that comes true, father," Sam answers, trying to console his parent. He probs himself on one elbow, slowly etching closer.

Lucifer may not be warm, such physical quantities do not exist so deep in Jotunheim, but his presence assuages the storm in Sam's soul. He wraps an arm around his father's waist and rests his head in his lap, closing his eyes once again.

Jotuns and all the other folk in their realm regards his position as a great sacrifice. Their love for him stems from the fact that he took a duty upon himself none of them is willing, or capable, of fulfilling. Little they know that Sam enjoys obligations. Being the Lord of Winter is not a burden, but carries potential for a restless being like himself.

He has fewer rules to observe than the other seasonals, is free to come and go as he wishes and the power he draws upon is immense.

A truth that remains his secret, only known to Lucifer as well. But there is little what his father does not know about him, for they share a soul. Despite the fact that Sam is an infant compared to Lucifer's age, they are both halves of a greater whole.

They are everything to each other. Sam cannot exist without the old power in his arms and he never forgets it's true in reverse.

"How are you feeling, son?" Lucifer's question aims at Sam's state. At the little scratches and the hunger in his belly.

In Midgard Winter is a symbol for sleeping, for hunger and death. Winter in Jotunheim means feasting, full stomachs and the quenching of the summer thirst. Coming from one world and stepping into another extreme has caused damage in the past. One reason why they are down here, where nothing can disturb them.

"I am not hungry, thank you father, for asking." Sam pulls himself upright. Down here the flow of magic is heavy but fulfilling. Jotunheim has large reserves to draw upon and the realm shares them eagerly with the child of its ruler.

It is a natural state, down here, not to require substance. Whatever father and son require, they absorb through their skin and by breathing while Jontunheim  _ gives  _ and shares. Though, as the sole rulers, they could take what they want. On a whim, if necessary. In cruelty or in gratitude or through a trade. Be it flesh, blood, lives or magic, as King of Jotunheim and Lord of Winter, there is little what can threaten them with consequences.

The Allfather being the one exception, but that is Sam's task to worry about.

"While I do not doubt your strength, please humour me and drink the water on the table next to you." Lucifer breaks the comfortable silence before Sam can seek out his presence by wrapping his long limbs around his body.

It takes time and effort to untangle them whenever this happens, so Lucifer urges to get his request through before Sam falls back asleep.

"Water from Mímir's Well?" Sam raises an eyebrow but does not question the bowl to his right.

He brings it up to his lip and drinks.

It may look like water, but as Prince SámR he is aware of the treasure he is holding in his hand. The Allfather himself sacrificed one eye for the wisdom he gained in exchange. The tale is famous through the realms. Others tried to repeat the feat and while Mímir's Well is located under one of Yggdrasil's three roots and thus not difficult to find, it is the water itself that often drives lesser minds insane.

For the river the water springs from the primordial plane of Ginnungagap, the yawning void.

His father's eyes always turn unimaginable sad whenever he mentions the place and origin of Mímir's Well. It is the last sacred relict of the Old World. Even the last war does not translate into the destruction that forced his father's race to flee their home. Sam never pries for more information.

Too great is the pain Lucifer buried in his heart. All Sam knows is that it involves a loss of unspeakable measures.

_ 'Dying Worlds, the first cycle of Ragnarök, the gaping wound Yggdrasil buried its roots in, _ ' his father called it.

Sam loves his father enough not to ask. He does not wish to bring him pain and in response Mímir's Water gifted him dreams from times where Jörð, the goddess of Midgard, was born. An image that still makes him shudder for these days Jörð is archaic, one of the few rumoured to have laid eyes on Ymir, the god-like giant and father of all Jotun, himself.

"Sam? SámR, my son?" His father's voice sounds far away as if he dictates a letter from Jotunheim to a scribe in Asgard.

The Lord of Winter shakes is head to clear his thoughts. He puts down the bowl, slowly, instead of smashing it on the ground.

"I forgot the effects these waters can have, even on us," he finally replies, holding his head. It is difficult to banish the images, but usually, Mímir's Well helps those willing to keep an open mind.

It is not always easy to understand the intended message, though.

"Forgive me, my son." Lucifer places a hand on Sam's neck. The touch has the immediate effect of grounding his son, dragging his spirit back to the present where it can anchor itself in the weight of the ice pressing down from above. "I noticed your injuries and thought it wise to counteract the last traces of poison I found in them."

"Oh, I almost forgot." Sam winces and brings his hand up to his ribs.

Lucifer's fingers follow suit, carefully tracing the fresh scars. It is a silent question of what happened. Sam shrugs off the urge to insist it was nothing. The fact that there is still poison cruising through his body, enough to be detected by Lucifer who has little knowledge in this regard, speaks of the necessity to reveal the tale in full.

Also, Sam reminds himself, his father always asks about his journey. It is the purpose of coming here, to share the time they spend apart with the other. They keep little to themselves, from the endless nights Sam wanders alone through Midgard to the new, daily and ever-changing patterns Lucifer finds in the ice, they spend hours describing it to their other half that completes them. It is the willingness to listen, to share experienced joys and suffered pains, that keeps them close and true to one another.

"What happened?" Lucifer prods when Sam becomes lost in his thoughts again.

"A demon attacked me. At first, I believed it was a fire giant." At Lucifer's raged expression, he adds, "Fear not, father. I was wrong, Múspellsheim did not break the truce. The creature lasted not even three blows of my sword before it perished, but it had hidden a trap within its corpse that caused the wound."

"From the worrying aspect aside where the creature came from, what did you do? A wound severe enough, adding the poison, should have made you turn back to Jotunheim immediately."

Calling upon spells that are still beyond Sam's comprehension, light gathers in Lucifer's hand. Its origin is a mystery, but Sam is familiar enough with its effects. As the scar slowly vanishes, leaving unblemished skin behind as Lucifer heals him, he continues his tale.

"It was my first instinct to summon aid, I did not doubt that the court would deny my request. Queen Lilith's realm was close, so I took the Road of Despair to ask for sanctuary. It would have allowed me to heal without returning to Jotunheim too early. Midgard had not even celebrated the solstice yet."

"You never made it that far?" Fear swings in Lucifer's voice at the thought of his son crawling over dark abandoned roads with only skeletons for company.

Sam sighs. Closeness sometimes requires an honesty that is not easy to share.

"There are not many who travel these paths. Midgard has no ruler who guards its roads between the realms. Nonetheless, the streets are rarely  _ empty. _ " Despite what he tells his father, Sam uses the roads frequently. They make fast travel possible, especially when he wishes to avoid detection. "They also make great hiding places, if you raise enough wards."

Lucifer becomes quiet. His eyes burn holes into Sam's defences.

"Who did you encounter?" The tone is quiet but demanding. No doubt that there will be no peace between them until the King of Jotunheim learned the truth. Since their verbal battles can last ages, involving weeks where they do not speak to one another, Sam contemplates if he wishes to go that far.

"Which my accursed enemies saved your life, dear son?" Lucifer asks again. Once again his instinct takes the right turn, though he has little to go on from what Sam has told him so far.

Hesitation takes hold of Sam for a moment before he decides a lie is not worth the trouble.

"Loki, the Trickster." Sam has to force the truth out of his mouth. Down here in Jotunheim, hidden in the sanctuary and wrapped up in his father's arms, he has a different perspective on what happened.

Of course, it is a matter of distance. On Midgard, his opinion on the matter would shift. It is a simple case of shuffling cards around until they fit the game you wish to play. Usually, it is the result that matters. Rarely Sam is judged how he archives them.

As long as he honours the peace between the realms and follows the laws Jörð issued for the season on Midgard.

Next to him, Lucifer tensed. Sam studies his father, his partner, the other half of his soul.

The last war between the realms left scars behind. The difficulty with Loki is that he is neither an ally nor has he ever been declared as an enemy. Despite the numerous voices speaking out against him, the Allfather and the King of Jotumheim said nothing of the subject.

Since Loki rarely left Midgard anymore, the Fairy Courts acknowledged his self-chosen exile.

To his surprise, Lucifer's reaction is moderate.

After taking a deep breath, he relents. "If Loki's skill saved you from pain and possibly your life then I owe him everything."

Sam's confused expression must be obvious. There are only a handful of souls in the universe aware of how Prince SámR came to be. Odin Allfather - or _ ' _ ** _Michael!_ ** _ ' _ as Lucifer calls him - is the only one with the knowledge which role Loki played in ending the war between the realms. Not even SámR's brother DanR, Heir of Asgard, is in on the secret.

In a previous, now mostly forgotten life Sam would have never dreamed about lying to Dean. As Lord of Winter the rules demand that he treats the King of Summer with respect and a professional distance.

Lucifer chuckles. His laughter lightens the dark room.

"Oh, dear son. Do not think me blind to your feelings. I love you, you are my whole existence and Jormungand may swallow me if you dispute my words." With a conviction that shakes Sam to his very core, his father exclaims, "I know your heart, my son. I created you and you choose me. Do not deny that Loki invokes a fire in you that is able to consume all the forests in Alfheim."

Fleeing is impossible. The sanctuary is big and while Sam could run and spend a hundred years wandering through the caves, it would serve little in getting rid of the guilt he carries. The weight of his shame follows his every step. It has become a habit to banish all those of Loki once he enters Jotunheim, for his loyalty is to Lucifer.

Having to face the emotions Loki rouses in his soul, brought forth by his beloved father himself, is like taking a knife to the heart.

Unexpected.

Perhaps, but not that much of a surprise, if he is honest. The King of Jotunheim is perspective. Sam is his son and they need each other like mortals breathe air.

When Sam notices that his father and King waits for an answer, he admits, "He irritates me."

While known for great speeches, this time all Lucifer needs is to raise an eyebrow. He wears an expression Sam despises. It is one of a mentor teaching a student and each second is evidence of the inequality between the two parties.

Sam thought these days long gone. They were necessary as the King of Jotunheim had to instruct the Prince in the way of their people, but they both hated each minute they were not equals. A realization Sam took long enough to come about. For Lucifer is a great father, but not necessarily made for raising infants or teenagers.

Possible that Sam was just difficult, but reminiscing about the past does not distract him from the topic at hand.

"Shame fills my heart, father," Sam finally confesses. He takes Lucifer's hands into his own. "The face I show Loki is a different one than I show you. I refuse to call it love, for I deny the possibility I could ever need another. We are two halves. You lead me through the darkness. My mortal body is proof of your dictation for it lays beneath our feet in the forgotten stone of Jotunheim. How can I compare all your light to the illusion the trickster uses to confuse me?"

"Oh, my son, all that weight you have carried around with you."

Before Sam can protest or back away, Lucifer has drawn him into one of the tightest embraces they ever shared. The touch goes beyond body contact, it reaches into Sam himself. His soul, his mind and his spirit, they bask in Lucifer's power. In his light, in the peace and silence, he brings. It is as if he is swimming in Mímir's Well to travel upstream into Ginnungagap itself.

He cannot say how long it lasts, but in Sam's mind, they travel from the roots of Yggdrasil to its very crown and through all the nine realms before Lucifer lets him ago.

Sam gasps as they separate, as he returns to the bed with the soft fur deep in the sanctuary made of ice.

When he raises his head, his gaze finds Lucifer's and at this moment his father is everything  _ but  _ a frost giant. He may appear as a giant made out of frost, as a creature as tall as Yggdrasil itself with a core made from ice.

It is incomprehensible.

Sam loves him. Every snowflake trapped in his father's body, every shade of white that reflects a million colours Jotunheim has immersed in ice. He also loves the crushing weight the mountains of ice produce, how the body on top of the Ice Fortress is nothing more than a metaphor for  _ the tip of the iceberg. _

He loves Lucifer for protecting the world from the darkness that waits below Jotunheim.

"I love you," Sam whispers with tears in his eyes.

Articulating his emotions with words seems unnecessary. They cannot translate his happiness, his affection and the elation his experiences at this moment.

There is also anger at himself and ...

... the vehemence on which all his interactions with Loki are based on.

"Father!" Sam pleads. He hopes for an answer. It is impossible for Lucifer to have not noticed the conflict warring inside him. He has felt his father's love, his adoration and his need to have Sam nearby in return.

But it is not the same as hearing his judgement on the matter.

If anything, touching Lucifer's soul complicated the subject on Loki a thousand times further.

"Sam, my son. " The King of Jotunheim brings up his hands to cradle Sam's face between his hands. "No matter what you do, I will always love. I will always have loved you. I cannot _ un-love _ you and I cannot regret."

After a pause, which Sam is unable to interpret, he adds, "That being said, it does not surprise me that you are not able to _ fall in love _ with me. That is a different kind of love. We do not share that. We cannot share that. Never. Do you understand?"

The question seems impossible to answer. But the more time passes, the easier it becomes for Sam to reflect upon the emotional turmoil weighing him down. Suddenly, he has the taste of Mímir's Waters on his tongue again. In his mind, he watches Jörð age. He saw her as a maiden. Today the earth goddess is frail, senile and touched by decay. Both images belong to a puzzle, but the pieces refuse to fit. There is too much missing in between.

The abyss is too great.

"What I feel for Loki," Sam pronounces carefully while studying Lucifer's reaction, "Is the same what you feel for Michael."

His father cannot wide his wince. While Sam is not happy to inflict pain, he is glad for the flash of insight. It eases his guilt, his fear he may be unfaithful and undeserving of Lucifer's love, unwilling participant or not.

"Yes." One word and Lucifer's body is drained of his pride and his composure. Sam does not need to dive into his father's soul again to see the struggle in his heart.

He has always known that the King of Asgard and the King of Jotunheim share a history. One far beyond the last war. Beyond the story how the Allfather traded an eye for the wisdom of Mímir's Well. That is only an embellished tale anyway. According to Lucifer, Michael lost his eye in a long-forgotten battle and gained the wisdom - the folly of their fight - all on his own.

"Maybe I finally understand what you are trying to tell me." Sam lies down on the bed again, crossing his arms behind his back as he stares at the ceiling.

Strange how it is less difficult to make sense of Lucifer's long and complicated relationship with Michael than make sense of Loki.

"Good," Lucifer says and curls up next to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Readers that came because of the Prequel: You are supposed to be confused. I see you in Part III.


End file.
